Do you ever stop and consider the moment you are in, the point of life you are living, and wonder how you got here? But in a good or wondrous way? It is the one year anniversary of our relationship, and I still can’t believe, sometimes, that we are together. The years before we confessed our feelings were bloated with unanswered or suppressed emotions, tense moments, many unfulfilled sparks, and on my end: regrets when I should have kissed him, but lost my courage.
I have never really experienced love. I suppose my life is still a fledgling. Sometimes I wonder if I lie when I write. I worry that I am not a truthful writer because many of the emotions I try to create and imagine, I have not felt to the fullest extent. I have never experienced death, I have never experienced extreme loss of confidence or direction in life. I have never hit rock bottom or suffered a true broken heart. Although I have hurt, it seemed mediocre or of a lessor scale. I have watched others experience intense emotion. And love… love was an emotion I studied.
“When do you know when you are in love?” I ask.
“You just do,” they said.
What kind of answer is that? But now… now I understand. Love is not something that can ever be pinned by words. It can only be grazed and touched. Perhaps that is why love is constantly revisited, questioned, and imagined by writers. It is the greatest challenge to try and define love.
Love. I know I love him. I just do. I know that I would do whatever it took to see him smile after a hard moment. I know that my heart quickens when I am close to seeing him again. I know that when his hand holds mine, I am completely safe. When you are unafraid to share your deepest fears, or your truest personality, I think you are in love. We hide so much from the people we care about. But love seems to make these secrets obsolete. I want to share my life, and be a part of his in return.
It is strange, but there is no real description to explain the heart. We can only write in abstraction. What is your definition?